


Valentine's Day Is Overrated Anyway

by consult_the_potato



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mild Kink, Other, Reader-Insert, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consult_the_potato/pseuds/consult_the_potato
Summary: “Doll, I thought we’d open the Shack a little late this afternoon. I’ve got something I’d, ah, like you to try first.” His arms are sliding around your waist once again, his nose gentle against the side of your neck as his lips press into the skin there. You shudder at the touch, leaning back against his chest. You turn your head to look at him and ask exactly what he’s talking about, but his fingers move to your hips, turning you to face him as he continues his assault on your neck. The sweet, tender kisses against your skin turn bruising, his teeth scraping against your skin. You feel the slight edge of his unshaven cheek beneath your jaw and you groan before you can stop the noise from leaving your lips.





	Valentine's Day Is Overrated Anyway

It’s not that you really _dread_ Valentine’s Day each year, it’s just….not a day you entirely look forward to. It’s not simple to ignore, either, what with your friends announcing their engagement, the storefronts around town littered with red and pink heart-shaped pieces of paper, and the ads on the radio blasting loud announcements of deals on anything from cars to diamond rings for your ‘lovebug’. It’s...become a little sickening, to be honest.

Which, quite frankly, is why you’re headed up to the Shack. Stan had assured you that he wouldn’t decorate like hell, and to be fair, an old cabin in the woods that’s full of taxidermied animal parts stitched together to make new animal parts isn’t all that romantic (unless someone is into that sort of thing, you think, then wrinkle your nose at the thought). It is an endearing place to you though, you must admit. With Stan Pines there, waiting for you every day, how could you stay away?

Parking your car in its normal spot in the lot in front of the Shack, you smile at the lack of cars. Not a great day for too much business, but it’ll be alright. A few oddballs will come around here and there, either to spook their loved one into cuddling closer, or to have a good laugh amongst themselves, but you don’t mind it, really. Especially since Stan is standing out on the porch, leaning with one arm against one of the weight-bearing wooden pillars holding the cabin up. He’s grinning your way, waving one hand lazily your way as you come up the steps towards him. His hand falls to your waist, pulling your body to his as you toy with his untied tie at his collar. 

You reprimand him with a playful lilt in your voice, reminding him that _he should look professional enough that people would want to throw money at him_ , and he chuckles when you tie it for him. His smiling lips land at your forehead, then he ducks down to take your lips against his own. You lean into his warmth, meeting his lips halfway before tugging at his lapel, moving away with a smile. He cocks a brow, but the dimple in his cheek dots his face in the way you know he’s amused. 

“What? Can’t kiss ya whenever I want?” He pats your waist gently, leading you into the Shack as he walks in behind you, shutting the door with his foot while he absentmindedly fixes his cufflinks. _It’s not that_ , you reply with your own brow raised, looking around the gift shop for any sign of heart-shaped decor. There’s maybe one or two of those premade valentines with googly eyes and glitter around the edges, but they look a little old ( _old_ -old, tattered around the edges and yellowing (you hope) from age). Otherwise, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Again, not that you hate it, but….

“Doll, I thought we’d open the Shack a little late this afternoon. I’ve got something I’d, ah, like you to try first.” His arms are sliding around your waist once again, his nose gentle against the side of your neck as his lips press into the skin there. You shudder at the touch, leaning back against his chest. You turn your head to look at him and ask exactly what he’s talking about, but his fingers move to your hips, turning you to face him as he continues his assault on your neck. The sweet, tender kisses against your skin turn bruising, his teeth scraping against your skin. You feel the slight edge of his unshaven cheek beneath your jaw and you groan before you can stop the noise from leaving your lips. 

He snickers, one of his hands leaving your hip and sliding to palm your ass. You stammer a question as he sucks another bruising kiss against your throat, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves away from you without a word, his warmth leaving you without a second thought. An undignified noise leaves your throat and you flush at the sound and Stan turns his head to look at you, cocking a brow with an amused smirk. 

“Already?” Your blush spreads and he snickers, reaching to take your hand and tugging you toward the stairs. He turns slightly to press another kiss against your lips and you almost clatter into him, making him stumble against the stairs before he catches himself with a hand on the bannister. You lean into his chest, slipping your tongue flat against his bottom lip and now it’s his turn to groan, his free hand gripping at the waistband of your pants.

Expert pickpocket fingers have your jeans undone and the fly unzipped in no time, and you look down at his hand sliding beneath the fabric. When you look up again, he’s pushing you against the wall opposite the bannister with his chest, his teeth finding a new patch of skin just beneath your jaw to nibble at. He toys with the waistband of your undies, fingers slipping lower to tease at the warmth budding between your legs. An amused laugh huffs against your neck and your mouth falls open into a groan. It must resonate against your throat, or he’s enjoying himself while he teases his digits just barely up into you, not enough to satisfy, but just enough to make you roll your hips against his obliging hand. 

In the grinding, your pants have slipped a little past your thighs, one of your hands gripping the lapel of his coat. He tuts at you and pulls his fingers away, taking a few steps up the stairs away from you. “Gonna ruin my jacket before work, toots. That’s not allowed, gotta look ‘professional’ ‘n all.” He smirks, taking the stairs two at a time up toward his room. You swear at him and shimmy out of your pants, leaving them on the stairs as you stumble up the stairs after him.

He’s at the doorway of his bedroom when you catch up, and you inwardly curse him for being so in shape, especially at his age. You open your mouth to outwardly curse him, but he catches your lips against his, pulling you into him by the bottom edge of your shirt. He tugs enough that your chest presses into his and he groans, his warm-but-rough palms sliding up your hips to your ribs, fingertips tickling slightly before toying at the lace edge of your bra. Stan’s mouth pulls away from yours and he looks at you with an arched brow, his bottom lip caught between his teeth with the hint of a smile at the edges. You roll your eyes and snicker at him, but the fabric of your shirt is already coming up and over your head.

His fingers leave the bottom of your shirt, leaving you with your shirt halfway on, arms up and awkwardly stuck in the sleeves. His footsteps retreat into his bedroom and you groan in frustration, pulling the shirt the rest of the way from your body and tossing it to the floor. You cross the threshold to his room and he’s sitting on the foot of the bed with one leg crossed on the other. A knowing, playful smirk splits across his cheeks while he eyes you. You realize you’ve played right into his trap, walking into the metaphorical lion’s den in only your (not quite matching) underwear. His smirk breaks into a grin and he motions you closer, dropping his leg and patting his thighs, offering you a seat.

You huff in frustration, unsure whether to take him on his offer or chew him out for being such a damn tease. There’s a heat in his amber gaze and now he’s reaching for your hands, pulling you into him. “Sorry, baby. Too much?” He asks without an inch of remorse in his voice, tugging you closer. You roll your eyes at him, but smile as you straddle his lap. You roll your hips against his as you settle against his. A soft groan escapes his throat, his palms landing on either side of your ass to grind up against you.

Your teeth sink into the side of his neck and he groans louder, your hands wandering to free him from his work suit. Stan’s fingers leave your ass, closing around your wrists and sliding out from under you in one quick motion. Your back hits the fabric of his bed, and you realize he’s flipped your positions. His mouth is against your breast, his stubbled cheek rubbing against the sensitive skin against the lace of your bra. You press your chest against him, trying to reach for him, but his grip is secure at your wrists. His mouth rumbles with a laugh against your skin, using one hand to press both of your wrists into the bed above your head. 

His newly-freed hand travels lower, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Damn criminal, you grumble as he tugs your bra away easily, grinning with pride when he clasps your wrists back down and tosses the garment elsewhere. His mouth catches your nipple, his warm tongue laving over the sensitive nub of your nipple. A whine escapes your throat and you push your wrists against his hand, willing him to let you go so you can remove him from his suit. His free hand slides down your stomach and underneath the fabric of your undies effortlessly, deft fingers flitting against your clit. Your hips buck into his hand and you gasp. A groan rumbles against the skin of your breast, “Toots, I haven’t even _done_ anything to ya yet, how are you so..?” 

His question falls away when his fingers slip inside of you, first one pumping between your folds, then two. You moan, moving your hips against his hand as he fucks you. You want to reach for him, to pull him free of his business suit and touch him anywhere and everywhere, but he seems determined to keep your hands from unbuttoning his shirt. He grunts, pulling his fingers from you and abruptly pulling your underwear away from your hips. He fumbles a moment, frowning. “Baby, if I let you go, I need you to keep your hands t’yourself. Otherwise, this whole thing’s comin’ to a standstill. Do you understand?” 

His eyes are locked to yours, a heat resting in the gaze. You open your mouth to say something, but it falls closed as you nod. His eyebrows shoot upward, like he’s asking if you’re sure. You nod again and his hand releases your wrists. You run your thumb over one wrist, where you feel your wrestling may have earned you a bruise or two. The thought sends a shudder through your body. 

His hands tug at the fabric of your underwear and you lift your hips to help him free you from the garment. You settle back into the bed, now fully nude opposed to his full business-wear. Your hands move to toy at his hair, but you remember his warning from before, instead tucking your hands behind your head and twirling your hair around a finger or two.

His fingers enter you again, the cool pad of his thumb teasing at your clit while he pumps against you. You groan, one of your hands leaving your head to gently cup your own breast. It’s his turn to moan, apparently enjoying the sight. You look at him and the breath between moans leaves you, his mussed hair and slightly-swollen lips against his flushed cheeks a beautiful sight to behold. Beads of sweat peek from the silver edge of his hair, apparently getting quite literally hot and bothered within that three-piece suit. 

You roll your hips against his hand, the heat in the pit of your stomach building with each thrust. He ducks his head, lips pressing into your stomach and teeth grazing _just_ so against your hip bone. Stan lays his arm over your hips, holding them still against the bed. He kisses your thigh, his hair tickling your skin as he pulls his fingers from you, settling between your legs. The rims of his glasses knock awkwardly against your inner thigh, his face flushed at the sight. You catch his eye, nibbling at your bottom lip. He flashes you a grin, winking at you before pressing a chaste kiss to your clit. You’re grateful for his arm against your hips, otherwise you would buck off the bed. 

His tongue dips between your folds and you groan at the sensation, forgetting yourself as your hands curl into his hair. Stan abruptly pulls away as your fingers tease at his scalp, wincing when he pulls the tangled digits away from his head. “Toots, I warned you.” An embarrassing noise escapes your throat before you swallow it away, stammering an apology and a _promise I’ll try better, Stan, please._

Stan’s frowning, but he lets your wrists go. His fingers toy with his bottom lip as he thinks. “Yeah..Yeah, I’ll give you another chance, doll. On my terms.” He flashes you a wolfish grin, his fingers traveling to his belt to undo the leather. Your stomach flips, _finally_ , he’s going to get rid of that suit. He pulls the belt from the loops, the buckle clinking softly when it’s free. He nods, motioning for you to move further up on the bed and you do, not wanting to disappoint again (although, you’re not sure which of you would be disappointed). 

He straddles your hips, taking your wrists in one hand and pushing them above your head once more. He fumbles with the leather for a moment, the quiet clinking of the buckle against the bedframe mingled with his quiet swearing at the thing. He pulls away and grins at his work and you tug at your wrists, finding them bound tight to the headboard. You smirk at him, raising a brow as he kisses down your body once more, returning to his place between your thighs. _What, no handcuffs?_

“Don’t keep ‘em around, and I think you know why.” He teases back, his amusement as evident as his arousal. He eyes the belt once more, ducking down and laving his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one slow stroke. You groan, wrists fighting against the binds, but they hold steady. Pride shines in his eyes, somewhere mixed within the arousal, and you just want to kiss that look off his face. Not likely you’ll get the chance, though.

He picks up the pace, his tongue working between your legs as the heat in your stomach starts to boil over. You whine his name once, rolling your hips against his mouth. You can feel him smirk against your skin, the sensation new but not unwelcome. Stan’s fingers dip into you once more, but less gentle and slow than before. “C’mon, babe,” He encourages between kisses to your clit, his tongue teasing the sensitive nub with each curl of his fingers. You feel yourself start to shudder, the belt rattling quietly against the wood of the headboard. You gasp when he sucks at your clit, his fingers curling as he fucks them into you. You stammer his name as your hips stutter, lifting off the bed with your orgasm, his fingers working alongside his tongue as you come.

Stan pulls away while you catch your breath, stepping to the adjacent bathroom. You can’t quite see, but you hear the faucet running and him catching his own breath. You hiss quietly, realizing how sore your arms have become from their place tied above you. He returns, grinning that Mr. Mystery smile as he swipes a warm washcloth over your thighs and between them. 

“So...Th’Shack’s about to open up.” He’s still smiling, a mischievous lilt in his words. You raise your eyebrow as him as he tosses the washcloth haphazardly into the hamper. You rattle the belt to remind him, but he ignores it with a smirk. You open your mouth to ask him, but he’s picking up your underwear and bra, stepping through the still-open bedroom door and picking up your shirt. He disappears, but you hear him humming to himself as he walks away. 

Stan returns with a grin, leaning over the bed to undo the belt above your head. When your hands are free, you grab him by his lapels and yank him close, kissing him deeply and tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, one arm wrapping around your back to pull you closer before releasing you. He presses another kiss to your forehead and takes a step back, pulling his belt back through his belt loops and buckling it before readjusting the front of his slacks. 

“You,” He starts with a grin, and you raise your brows at him, “Get to hang out up here this afternoon. The Shack’ll only be open a few hours, and it’ll be slow. Plenty of time for me to take some breaks and visit ya.” His grin falls into a smirk, and you finally realize, _oh god, he’s hidden your clothes._ You eye his closet and he rolls his eyes, “If you wanna make it less fun and make me hide my own clothes each time I come up here for you, I guess we can do it the hard way.” Stan’s teasing, wrapping his arms around you and giving you another kiss, his teeth teasing your bottom lip. 

He pulls back once more, winking at you as he moves to the threshold of the door. “Hey. Love ya, babe.” He winks at you, his grin only widening as you repeat the words back to him. He closes the door and you settle into his bed once more, curling into the covers. You leave your head just a little out of the covers, though. Just enough for you to peek at his closet, deciding on exactly which t-shirt you’re about to steal from him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! <3


End file.
